


A Literary Love

by 10minutestothedeadline



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Bisexuality, Literature, M/M, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Professor Castiel, Sam is a Sweetheart, Student Dean, Veteran Dean, as always, dean is bi and it isnt a big deal, i apolagise if i made it sound like one, its a very big deal to me, this isnt a coming out story, to everyone but me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:03:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10minutestothedeadline/pseuds/10minutestothedeadline
Summary: So I started writing this before I went to university. And even though I now do go to Uni, I have no idea how teachers get employed nor how to actually get a doctorate, but I do think there is a teaching aspect... to be honest I'm not sure. So if it seems wrong, and you do know the process of becoming a Professor, let me know :)Also... apologies for any formatting issues, I have no idea what i'm doing.





	

Dean had returned from the Marines completely unsure of what to do with himself. His injuries meant he had no hope of returning and when that fear overcame him at night he would roll over to face the wall. He did his best to ignore the longing to hold a gun in his hand and do something righteous, just one more time. After 3 months of moping, fixing cars with Bobby and the development of a need so strong, to just do something, Dean found himself aching constantly. It was Sam that provided the not so subtle kick up the arse by delivering pamphlets to community college and information on help for veterans injured in war. Dean had pocketed them, promised to look and shuffled away from Sam.

Another 3 weeks and Dean had hoped his dithering meant there was no way he could sign up before the beginning of the next semester. He wanted to do it, but could not find the will to put himself out there. But yet again Sam proved to be about as subtle as hand grenade and drove Dean to the Lawrence Community College admissions office under the pretence of drinks around a game of pool. Really, Dean should have figured that one out, goody-two-shoes Sam would never drive to a bar, he'd walk. It became clear then that Sam was never gonna let Dean get away with not signing up, the admissions officer was already aware of Dean, his past and his first year of college was paid for, he just needed to pick his classes and sign on the dotted line. And Dean had tried to be pissed, he really had, but Sam had looked so hopeful and so proud and he'd tried so damn hard to give Dean a purpose again so yeah, he signed and took the class prospectus and said he would call back with his choices. 

The next week was a blur of manic nerd prep. Sam took Dean shopping every day for supplies, from pens to paper, to ink cartridges and ramen noodles. Dean had to remind Sam that he wasn't a real college kid. Not in the way Sam had been anyway. He would come home every night to Bobby's and eat a home cooked meal. He was gonna fix cars at the weekend and go to bed early and do his assignments like a good boy. No frat parties or drug experience. Sam had stared at him like he'd grown a second head and put on his finest bitch face and said "Dean, it's college you don't know what's going to happen. That's the point".

So whatever. Dean was excited. He might have fun get laid and drink himself blind, it could be fun. 

But he couldn’t, could he? Almost a decade older than everyone else. A leg that sometimes gave in and back ache to rival any 80-year-old man. 

So, Dean spent the first semester taking any class that appealed. Psychology, Mythology, Engineering, Languages. It would be impossible for him to major in anything and that was kinda the point. He didn't want to have pointless degree in something that would never be of use again. 

Sam had suggested the Introduction to Literature course on cold Sunday night after a beer on the porch at Bobby's. Dean had stared incredulously at his brother, his floppy hair and his undone tie demonstrating how different they were. 

"Dude. I've read like 3 books in my life." 

"Yeah. And I bet they're all Vonnegut aren't they? He's on the course"

So Sam had studied the damn briefings for the classes. What a nerd. But so had Dean. And yeah, he'd noticed that too. 

He remembers reading his first Vonnegut book; the stereo in the car had broken down, he'd moaned to Dad for weeks. Complaining that a silent car made him feel as little car sick and he needed a distraction. John hadn't really been listening to any of it, he'd been congratulating Sammy on his awards in science at they're last high school and apologising for having to move them again. So when they stopped at a store and Dean saw a shelf labelled "Abandoned Books – Feel Free to Take and Leave a Small Donation" he wandered over and picked up the first book that caught his eye. He read the summary, and his mild interest grew enough for him to pocket it. He left a quarter in the donation pot and a day later, after reading it cover to cover by flashlight in a seedy motel room, he'd truly wished he'd left more.

And so, began a secret passion. It was a gentle passion, that rolled over his skin the same way a soft breeze would but a passion nonetheless. And Dean read. Four books was most defiantly an understatement. Not only did he pick up every Vonnegut book he could find, as he continued to treasure that old copy of Slaughterhouse 5 Dean had read nearly every book Sam had till the kid took off for college, and then many more besides. He’d pick them up whenever Sam put them down, reading under covers at motels and remembering page numbers so he didn't need bookmarks. There was never a clear reason in Deans head as too why he kept his book loving nature to himself but he kept doing it anyway.  
And so as they followed Dad across the country for the remainder of their teenage years. And Sam – ever the proud nerd- would yabber on about this book and that book, in a way Dean could not, so he would keep quiet. He didn't agree that Hermione and Krum were a great couple, he did agree that Harry and Ginny were perfect for each other but he kept quiet. Reminding himself books were Sam's thing.

When Sam read Wuthering Heights for a paper and seemed to think Heathcliff and Cathy's love for each other was perfection Dean did disagree, loudly. His Dad had proved that loving a dead woman wasn’t healthy. He didn't want Sammy thinking that was he goal.

It was probably this rant, where Sam had stood slack jawed, with no counter to Dean’s well thought out analysis had probably been what triggered it for Sam. He finally notice that Dean ran his fingers along the spines of books when they passed them in stores, that Dean made Harry Potter jokes and had long since stopped mocking him when he fell asleep with a book in his hands. He finally put all those things together. But Sam, being as tactful as ever didn’t mention it. And when Sam went to college and Dean signed up and took off for training, just like Dad had done, he ditched all his favourite books and forgot all about that love. 

It was however how he started talking to Benny, who sat one day reading a beaten copy of Dean’s old favourite book. It always seemed appropriate to Dean that reading brought him love. But that ended, as most things seemed to for Dean, tragically and with a long hospital visit. 

But Dean never stopped loving that book, nor did the love he had for all stories die. Really he was glad that Sammy was so perceptive, glad that he found that book. And now that Dad was gone, and the two brothers were so much more comfortable with themselves and each other, he really had nothing stopping him. So he signed up for the damn class, and that old love flared into something new.

He'd sat in his first literature class, nervous, - because it was the first one he had attended that he actually cared for - tired and well prepared. In that class, he discovered to study literature you didn't need to have read every book under the sun, you just needed to decide to see the power behind words. Let them affect you. Let them wash over you. To feel. And even if he would never admit it, Dean felt. 

And now. Now? Well now Dean Winchester; secret book lover turned marine turned wounded veteran turned community college valedictorian was well on his way to getting a Doctorate in Literature. Who would have seen that coming?

And because life liked to spew on him despite his qualifications, his list of published works and his age he was only now beginning a job as the most junior of junior teaching assistants at Stanford. Most people his age, and with his long list of accomplishments, would have been much farther in their academic career than Dean. Most wouldn’t have needed their little brother’s help with the Board of Governors. 

But hell, was he still proud of himself.

He loved watching the big professors with their elbow patches turning their noses up. He loved watching the kids laugh as he bowed to his superiors as he handed over the third coffee he had been sent to retrieve that day.

But the fun ended when a new semester started and he was asked to assist a new Professor. 

That's when he met Castiel Novak. And okay, the guy’s eyes were like the fucking sky, and okay, he somehow smelt like honey and coffee at the same time, and okay, he may have been the sexiest professor in the fucking joint but Dean wasn't looking. And the dude wore a trench coat and a suit and ate PB&J'S for God sake, totally not adorable. But Cas - as Dean had coined him in his head and accidentally aloud on one occasion where it resulted in Cas raising an eyebrow a miniscule amount - also made Dean work harder than any other professor Dean had worked for. He had Dean grading papers and working with students during tutorials, he listened to his ideas and had Dean explain things to the students on days where Cas just couldn't get the words out right. 

One night, with two weeks left in the semester, Dean finally asked why Cas made him do so much more than all the other professors did. 

Cas had raised an eyebrow, much more noticeably than any other time Dean had seen Cas employ the gesture and paused the coffee he had bought (he'd picked one up for Dean too) in front of his face.

"What did the others make you do?"

"Fetch coffee, mostly" Dean had replied with a laugh, taking the last swig of the coffee remaining in his cup. 

"Who did you work for?" Cas asked, putting his own coffee down and resting his palms flat on the table.

"Er, Crowley first then Sands and then Rowena, why?"

"No reason," Cas said but he was up and out of his chair, Dean only briefly glimpsing an expression of pure rage on his face before he was gone.

Cas returned around 30 minutes later, with a bloodied knuckle, a backwards tie, and his hair a mess. Dean had dropped the papers he'd been organising to rush to Cas, "what the hell happened, dude?" Dean asked bringing Cas' hand to his face. 

"I punched a wall" he replied simply.

"Okay. Why? 

Cas shrugged slightly, "it seemed a better idea than punching Crowley's head" he said, as if he was talking about the weather. 

Dean was staring between Cas' hand and his sky blue eyes desperately attempting to find some sense somewhere. Eventually Cas' eyes steadily met his, "Crowley, his mother and Sands were under the impression that you could do no more because you graduated community college and your brother's connections to Stanford got you in the door here. They are wrong. And I was angry"

Right. Dean had known that of course. That made sense. What didn't make sense was Cas reacting with righteous fury. But that righteous fury was still in Cas' eyes, it was cooler than before and somewhat relaxed but still there. It resembled Benny’s eyes on that last day he'd really had a chance to look at them. So Dean dropped Cas' blood covered hand and gasped dramatically, "you mean to tell me, " he gestured to himself with both hands, Cas blood marking them both, "that the ginger she-bitch is Crowley's mother? Damn, no wonder he's messed up! She's all kinds of crazy!"

For a moment Cas just took in Dean's wild joking eyes, but then he laughed. And Deans breath got lodged in his throat. Cas threw his head back, his eyes creased beautifully and the sound that came out was like music. 

Finally (because Dean really needed oxygen) Cas stopped laughing with a huff that sent coffee-breath all the way to Deans sinuses waking him up with a start. Cas looked at his own hand, with dried blood cracking on his skin, "I apologise for taking the issue into my own, er, hands. I know you are more than able to defend yourself, and obviously aware, and more mature in the face of their snobbery than I am” 

Dean laughed him off, and pulled him in for a hug, not even thinking about professionalism. "Don't even think about it" he whispered right by Cas' ear. In response Cas tightened his arms around Dean's waist.

"Your wrong by the way," Cas finally said, "she's not a bitch. She's a witch"

Dean and Cas' last few weeks went brilliantly. The witch, Crowley and Sands all laid off him, Crowley even going as far as cringing under Cas eye on a few occasions. Their last day together also coincided with the end of the year and an incredibly pompous and in Dean's opinion unnecessary party that really wasn't a party by any stretch of the imagination. It was all stiff drinks and stiff backs and dicks with sticks up their arses, laughing about student’s honest mistakes and whatever the hell else ignorant snobs thought was funny. But Dean and Cas went straight from their office, where they'd been posting final grades. Cas had somehow snuck in vodka and even though it wasn't Deans normal choice it made way more sense to drink that than the snotty champagne or the million-dollar whiskey some professor wouldn't share with him.

So 8:30 rolled around and Dean and Cas were at the back of the canteen that was fancier than any other canteen Dean had ever ate in before, passing back a bottle of vodka and very obviously ignoring the speeches being made at the front of the hall by the department heads. To busy giggling amongst themselves neither of them even noticed what was happening until the head of the English department refereed to Dean by name. Both Dean and Cas' heads snapped up, as if worried they were being scolded like school children.  
Donatello Redfield was at worst a pompous sleaze but at best he was honest and open minded, accepting of Deans slightly unorthodox entry into teaching at degree level.  
He smiled at the two grown men who were practically whimpering in the corner of the room.

"After the announcement of Ms. Sands maternity leave, which begins before the end of summer break, we will need a new professor. Mr Winchester, do you care to join me behind the podium?" Dean just looked at Cas hoping for an explanation. But by the bewildered eyes he could tell Cas had none, so steeling himself and getting clumsily to his feet he walked to the podium at the front if the hall. He felt somewhat like Harry Potter when he went to meet Dumbledore after his name was pulled out of the goblet of fire.  
Redfield held Dean next to him, a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder, and beamed to the crowd.

"Despite Mr Winchester's very different beginnings as a Teacher to most of us here, and the unwarranted reactions of some of our teaching staff" across the room guilty people shifted their feet " he has excellent credentials. His degrees in literature have resulted in published critical works and even some beautiful works of fiction. His past, so much unlike most of our own, makes him relatable to students and, I would be delighted if he would join our teaching staff in the literature department by taking over Ms. Sands classes for the near future."  
It wasn't phrased as a question more as a statement of fact, which, as always, prompted a spark of rebellion in Dean. He wanted to tell Redfield where to stick his snotty job and punch Crowley on the way out. But as he looked to the audience he saw that Cas had stood up, he was still at the back of the canteen, standing beside a rather extravagant stone pillar, and beaming widely at Dean. Even from this distance Cas eyes - that, yeah, okay didn't just look like the sky but we're the sky and the ocean, and hell yeah Dean had never seen a finer example of a real-life metaphor - were beautiful and glowing, but Dean supposed maybe the alcohol in his bloodstream was what made them seem ethereal in appearance. But that reasoning aside he found he couldn’t ignore those eyes, and without any orders from his brain he was nodding. Eyes not leaving Cas' he heard himself saying he'd be honoured to teach full time. He left the stage to a round of polite applause but didn't stop walking until he had grabbed Cas' hand and led him out of the room.

Cas was confused, a crease between his brows and a tilt of his head revealing his emotions, but still beaming. 

"I wanted to thank you" Dean said, turning to him, pulling both of Cas' hands into his.

"What for?" Cas asked, smile faltering at his further confusion. 

"For showing them I could do this" Dean said, dropping one of Cas' hands to hold his face in place, his thumb brushing along Cas' cheekbone. Cas' breath stuttered and he blinked slowly. When he opened them Dean’s own breath faltered, as if in the brief time without them he has forgotten their depth. 

"You showed them that" he said, with prideful determination.

Dean shook his head, “I couldn’t have without you". 

And Dean leaned in to kiss this angel of a man.

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this before I went to university. And even though I now do go to Uni, I have no idea how teachers get employed nor how to actually get a doctorate, but I do think there is a teaching aspect... to be honest I'm not sure. So if it seems wrong, and you do know the process of becoming a Professor, let me know :)   
> Also... apologies for any formatting issues, I have no idea what i'm doing.


End file.
